Santa Fe Dreams
by Girl-Boy-Whatever
Summary: Post RENT. Collins is still broken up after Angel's death and wants to preserve their time together as much as possible, so he decides to go with the only idea that ever stuck with him, going to Santa Fe. User name changed from Camera Girl 26 to Girl-Boy-Whatever
1. I'm Leaving

Summary: Post RENT. Collins is still broken up after Angel's death and wants to preserve their time together as much as possible, so he decides to go with the only idea that ever stuck with him, going to Santa Fe.

Disclaimer: All hail the late Jonathan Larson, he owns it all.

**Santa Fe Dreams**

**Chapter one**

**I'm leaving**

"What?!"

"I told you I'm leaving; I'm going to start my restaurant," Collins repeated

"But I already told you that it's boring in Santa Fe," Roger debated

"No, _you_ were bored because you had writer's block and couldn't see inspiration 'till it bit you in the ass."

"Do you want this group to fall apart again?" Roger asked

"Who says we're going to fall apart? Everything seems together to me-- you've still got Mimi; Maureen and Joanne haven't had a fight since before Christmas; Mark's still single, but successfully sold his movie to _three _TV stations, none of them Buzzline; and what have I got? A stolen leather coat bought for fifteen dollars from a homeless woman and a set of drum sticks, that's what I've got."

"So you're going to Santa Fe because you think you'll find Angel reincarnated?" asked Roger

"I'm going because I _want _to, and it's the only idea that's stuck with me through this whole fucking thing!" Collins snapped. "Look man, I don't want to leave on bad terms, but I _am_ going. Nothing's going to change that." Collins said,his voice a little bit calmer.

"Do whatever you want. But good terms I can't promise."

Collins sighed. This was not how he wanted to leave, but he wasn't going to back down either so he just nodded, picked up his bag, and walked out the door. It was time for the harder goodbye.

Awkward silences were never fun and they always last longer than they should, but the longest on in history was the one following Collins' knock on Mimi's door. When the silence was broken by the loud squeak of the door opening Collins almost turned tail and ran. "What is it?" Mimi asked

"Um, I have to say something, and you won't like it."

"What?" Mimi asked suspiciously.

"I'm leaving."

"That's great!" She exclaimed

"What?"

"It'll be good for you to get out the loft."

"Mimi, you don't get it. I'm _leaving_, as in I'm going to Santa Fe," Collins said

"What? You're not serious."

"Yes I am."

"How could you do this to me?" Mimi asked, hurt.

"To _you_?"

"Yes to me. You are only connection to Angel I have left."

"So if I leave then what?"

"Then Angel's really dead."

"I know, and that's why I stayed for as long as I did, I was afraid that if I left New York I would be leaving Angel. But I stuck with this idea of go to Santa Fe through all of this. I figure that if I go to Santa Fe it will be like bringing her back, at least a little bit. Did that make any sense?" Collins asked

"It did. It doesn't change anything though. If you go she might be more alive to _you, _but since I didn't share this Santa Fe idea with the two of you, then I will still lose the only connection I have left to my best friend." Mimi said sadly.

"I'm sorry."

"I know, and I think I'll be OK."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I won't be happy, but I'll be OK."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, and good luck, you're gonna need it."


	2. Chain Events

**Chapter Two**

**Chain Events**

"So, I hear you're going to open our restaurant," Angel said, surveying Collins' newly bought apartment in Santa Fe.

"Yeah, but it won't be the same. Not with you gone," Collins muttered, not looking up at Angel.

"I'm here now, aren't I?" She asked, coming to sit next to him on the bed.

"It's not the same."

That did it. "Hey, look at me. I don't take no, I told you that when we first met and I'm not going to let you forget it any time soon. Now get your lazy ass up and _do_ something. Don't turn into Roger," Angel ordered.

"I'm not going to turn into Roger... Were you always this bossy?" He asked, looking at Angel skeptically.

"Maybe not _always_. But my bossiness saved Mimi's life, remember."

"Yeah, I remember," Collins mumbled.

"Well the you should listen because I might just save your life as well."

That's how it all started, that one little dream began a long chain of events that would eventually make Collins wish that Mark had been there to film it all.

Seeing Angel again had affected Collins in a way that was quite hard to explain, it had made him happy, sad, and unbearably confused all at the same time. Which, in turn, made him even more confused. Which in turn sent him looking for a bar. Which, in turn, caused event number two, a collision with one of the regulars at said bar he was looking for.

"Ow!" Collins was lost his nonexistent balance and fell over after crashing into someone and sending the contents of their bag flying.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry," a female voice said, helping him up.

"It's fine, I'm fine," he said, still a little disoriented and still in need of a drink.

"I'm still sorry," the girl said. Collins bent to help her pick up her scattered papers, makeup, and the other random things that reside in girls' bags... such as, in this case a pill bottle with an all too familiar prescription on it. Event number three.

"Here you go."

"Oh, thanks I..." She stopped, he hadn't handed her the bottle, he was just staring at it... like it meant something, something important. She murmured a soft, "Hey," before going on. "If you feel bad for me, don't, I get enough sympathy from my parents."

"What?... Oh, no it's not that, it's just, I came here to escape New York City, but I think it followed me." Collins said, giving her the pill bottle and shaking his head.

"You're from New York City?"

"Yeah."

"So am I." she was getting enthusiastic now.

"What part?" Collins' mood hadn't changed.

"Upper West side."

"East Village."

"How long have you lived here?" she asked

"Since Monday."

"Oh... Well... I'm Sophia by the way," she said, extending her hand.

"Tom Collins," he shook her hand quickly, then dropped it again. Event number four.

"Do you want to get a drink?" Sophia asked, pointing to the bar across the street.

"What? Why?"

"Whoa, don't get all defensive. I'm not asking you out, you're not my type."

"And you're not mine."

"What is your type?" Sophia inquired.

Collins immediately thought of Angel and last nights dream, it had lasted no more than ten minutes and it felt like she was back, almost like she never left. Angel had told him not to turn into Roger, and Collins guessed that the first step in that was talking with friends, and because his apartment had no phone he couldn't very well talk to his friends in New York, and he had a feeling that this Sophia girl had an interesting story to tell. _What the hell._ "My type?... Long story."

"How long?" Sophia asked. Her tone was challenging and playful at the same time, but it held an undercurrent of genuine interest that one wouldn't hear very often from someone they just met.

"A little over a year."

Sophia looked at her watch. "Well, I don't have a very busy schedule, I think I've got time. My offer of a drink still stands." She told him, once again pointing out that the bar was just across the street.

"Fine. You get to hear my story on one condition."

"And that would be?"

"I get to hear yours." Event number five.


	3. Long Stories

**Chapter Three**

**Long Stories**

"So, are you going to say anything?" Sophia asked, looking at Collins who was staring off into space and hadn't moved since he sat down.

"What?... Oh, sorry. Just thinking," murmured Collins, shaking his head to bring himself back to earth.

"So about that long story you told me about."

"Oh, no. You don't get off that easy, see, I want to hear yours _first_."

"And I want to hear _yours_ first so I'll make you a deal. You said that your story is a little over a year long, and mine isn't mush less than that. Now, in my opinion, any story that long should have chapters, so how about this? You tell me one chapter, I'll tell you one chapter and so on, and so on, and so on. Will that work for you?" Sophia inquired, tilting her head to the side a little.

Collins thought for a moment... a very long moment. "Yeah, that'll work... Do I really have to go first?"

"Yes, you do."

"Fine. It's Christmas eve I'm coming home to my rundown shit of an apartment after seven months of tutoring at MIT, now--"

"Wait, wait, wait, your chapter has to have a name," Sophia insisted.

"I can't give this chapter a name, too much happens. Just listen. Now, because there's no buzzer on our building I have to call up to my roommates from a pay phone and asked them to give me the keys. So I get them, I'm about to go inside when I get jumped by the bastards with bats who, after taking my bag and coat leave me bleeding in a ally," Collins paused the story. "Fun huh?"

"Gross."

"You could say that too. Okay, so I'm sitting in there for... I don't know, maybe a couple of hours, and in a good deal of pain, and starting to get bored when... when I hear the steady beat of a drum. I didn't think much of it, there are plenty of people who like to set up whatever instrument they play and try to earn a few extra dollars. But then I cough, and the drumming stops," and just like said drum, Collins' story telling stopped, paused in that certain way that conveyed so much emotion, just by staying silent.

"Would I be right if I guessed that that drummer was your type?" asked Sophia, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You know, when you first look at him you don't think he's anything but some poor kid. He'd been drumming on a bucket, and his clothes looked pretty worn out, an old pair of jeans and beat up shoes. But that wasn't really him, I wasn't exactly paying attention then, I know now that wasn't really him..." He trailed off again, not thinking about anything but his Angel... his Angel.

"What was his name?" Sophia's voice brought him out of his head and back to earth. It was such a simple question, such a simple question.

"Angel... He was my Angel," That one name, that one, small, five letter word set it off, tears welled and fell over, streaking his face. He didn't want to cry; he thought he'd had his fill for life. A week ago he was yelling at Roger and now he was telling his story to a stranger, and to top it all off, he was crying in front of her. Needless to say, this was not how he thought his day was going to go. Collins rested his head on the bar counter for a few seconds, then turned to Sophia, he couldn't tell her anything more just yet. "It's your turn now. What's your type?"

"Well..." She started, pausing for dramatic effect. "My type was named Geoffrey, he was tall, his hair was this really nice brown color, he had an angular face, and he loved to pick me up and spin me around..." She trailed of, getting a dreamy expression on her face and clearly getting lost in memories.

"Sophia, you still here?" Collins asked, waving his hand in front of her face.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I'm back. Oh, and if I start to explain things too much just let me know, I'm an artist and I tend to get lost in the unimportant background details of everything," Sophia warned.

"It's alright, I'm used to worse," Collins replied.

"Really? How much worse?"

"Well, I have a friend who shut himself off from the world for half a year, trying, and failing to write a song."

"That does sound annoying. Anyway we met about five years ago at some get together for young people with AIDS. He was the tall, stand-outy guy who had been to a ton of these things and I was the tiny, terrified girl who had never been to anything like this in my life. I was scared; I didn't want to talk to anyone, so you can imagine how happy I was to see him walking in my direction. That was sarcasm by the way in case you didn't catch on," Sophia said, staring him down with a playful smile on her face.

"I got it."

"Good. Okay, so I see him walking towards me, and I'm annoyed until he opens his mouth. Who made you come? That's all he said, he just asked the question and waited for me to answer, and he didn't look like he was joking, it was a genuine question. He could tell I didn't want to be there, and even though there was no one with me he knew that I wasn't there by choice... And that was just... really cool," she smiled, getting lost in the memory, forgetting that she was telling the story to anyone.

"What did you say?" Collins asked, tilting his head to the side.

It was Sophia's turn to shake her head and come back to earth. "I didn't answer immediately, I just stared at him for a while, but when I did answer I was just as casual, I told him it was my sister and that was that. It wasn't until the next time that we actually had a conversation. That's how it started, we would see each other at these gatherings and we would talk, never about anything in particular, but then, after the first few times the conversations turned flirty. Eventually we exchanged phone numbers and agreed to call one another, about a month after that, he asked me out. That is the end of chapter one, it's your turn," Sophia concluded.

"Actually, it's getting late. So if I happen to bump into you again tomorrow you can hear chapter two, but until then I think I'll keep you guessing. Sorry." Collins said, dropping a bill on the counter to pay for the drinks and walking out, glad that he had guessed right about Sophia having a good story to tell. Plus she seemed like a pure bread bohemian so he had a feeling that she would easily slip into the role of friend. If she hadn't already that is.


	4. All About Questions

**Chapter Four**

**It's All About Questions**

"What if I hadn't gotten mugged that night?" Collins asked. He and Angel were lying on the couch together. They hadn't planned on talking, but, then again, when does anything ever go as planned?

"Well," she said after a moment, "if you hadn't gotten mugged, we wouldn't be having this conversation, because we wouldn't have met."

"That would've been hell."

"Well, technically, if we hadn't met then you would never have known what it was like to be _with_ be so being _without _me wouldn't be hell," Angel pointed out.

"Stop trying to sound all smart. You don't have to impress me, you know," Collins stated, cupping Angel's cheek with his hand.

"I know, I just like watching to blush."

"You are cruel."

"But you love me anyway."

"Yeah... I do."

Collins no longer thought of their meetings as dreams, they were too real; now he just thought Angel was visiting him, and they rarely talked about things being different now that she was gone. Being depressed was something only Roger could pull off. But they did talk about Sophia, Collins told Angel her story, and Angel told Collins to go back to the bar and see if she was there so he could tell her chapter two of _their_ story, but he kept stalling, thinking about what to say; should he tell the whole story, or just the parts about him and Angel? But then some of it wouldn't make sense. He was confused and Angel wouldn't help him, all she said to do was go tell the story, she didn't say what part of the story to tell.

"Just tell her the whole story, we led interesting lives that year." Angel said, taking Collins' hand from her cheek and tracing her fingers along the back of it.

"You can read my mind too, now that's just not fair."

"I don't have to read your mind to know what you're thinking. You don't like to think about a lot of things at once, and the main thing going on right now is that you still don't know what to tell Sophia, so I decided to help you out if it means that you'll finally go talk to her." Angel explained.

"You want me to go _now_?" Collins asked

"Yes. Go, I'll see you tonight."

Collins sighed but reluctantly got up from the couch. He could feel himself waking up, but held onto the dream long enough to give Angel one... sweet... kiss. When he pulled away his surroundings changed, the population of the apartment went back to normal, and Collins was alone again, a feeling that he was not interested in getting used to.

Once he was fully awake, he got up, dressed quickly, grabbed his coat and left the apartment. Collins decided to start by retracing his steps and going to the bar first, it was his best bet since he didn't know where she lived. As he walked, he thought, he thought about what to say and how to say it. But every time he went through it in his head it sounded stupid, like a writer trying to write a scene, but not liking what was on the page so it was crumpled up and thrown across the room, to join a large pile of other rejected ideas.

When Collins reached the bar he took a deep breath before going inside, then once he was in he scanned the place for any sign of Sophia, seeing none, he sighed and turned to leave, only to be stopped by a voice. "Tom Collins?" He whipped around to see that the voice did indeed belong to Sophia, she was just wearing glasses and had been hunched over a piece of paper she appeared to be writing on.

"Sophia... um... Hi." He was surprised to say the least, and because of that he was stuttering like a flustered child. He needed a drink.

"Tom Collins. Have you come to tell me chapter two?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Yeah, actually, I have. But, before I do I need to tell you about my friends, because this story will make no sense if I don't." Sophia nodded and gestured to her table.

"OK. Well, last time you mentioned your roommates, why don't you start with them." she suggested.

Collins nodded awkwardly, walked over to the table and sat down. He wouldn't make eye contact, he just stared at the wooden surface of the table... Or not, as it turned out, the paper that Sophia had been writing on was a sketch book, and on the open page there was a perfect sketch of the shop across the street, it already had most of its detail, right down to the reflections of the people walking past. "Oh my god. Sophia? Did you draw this?"

"Yeah, I did. I told you I was an artist last time we talked."

"Oh, right, you said to tell you if you started to explain things too much." He was still staring at the picture; no one he knew could draw that well, yes there had been art shows at NYU, but he only knew about them from posters in the hallways. He was a philosophy teacher, art wasn't exactly his thing.

"Yep, this sketch book is the only place where my obsession with detail is useful and... well, not annoying," Sophia stated, flipping through the pages.

"Hey, everyone has their obsessions; it's not a bad thing."

"You have a point. Okay, now tell me about your friends," Sophia insisted, closing the book and putting it in her bag.

"Fine. You said to start with my roommates, right?" She nodded. "Okay, I'll start with Mark, he's less complicated. Let's see... Well, Mark is a filmmaker. He never puts his camera down, a bunch of us thought he was going to marry the thing, it's insane. He used to date this girl, Maureen, but she dumped him for a woman named Joanne, and a year ago, she and Mark actually became friends, Maureen didn't like it though, it was funny. I'll tell you more about Maureen and Joanne later, now I'm going to tell you about Roger--"

"Wait, slow down, just let me take this in for a minute. Mark is your roommate and never puts down his camera, his girlfriend left him for another girl who then became friends with Mark. Did I get that right?" Sophia asked.

"Yeah, wow."

"I have a good memory. Okay, now keep going."

"Alright, now. Roger is a whole lot more complicated... and annoying, for that matter. About a year before my story he had this girlfriend, her name was April, he was crazy about her, over the moon insane, and she was crazy about smack, which unfortunately meant that he was too. Despite the drugs, everything was going great, he had a band, she was a groupie, it was cute. Then one day we came home, me, him and Mark, and a folded piece of paper was taped to the front door. He read it and freaked, ran inside and threw the paper down in the process. Mark picked it up, read it then handed it to me. April always had messy handwriting but this time she decided to write neatly, that was the first thing I noticed, then I read the words, 'We've got AIDS.' That's all it said. I think I remember crumpling it up, I'm not sure... 'cause the next second we heard Roger scream from inside the loft. We rushed in, found him in the bathroom, standing next to the bath tub, April was inside it, she'd slit her wrists. It was one of the worst things I've ever had to see." Collins grimaced at the memory, he had the most vivid picture of it in his mind... all that blood.

"Oh god... You've seen something worse than that?" Sophia asked incredulously.

"That's another part of the story."

"Wow, you lead a very dramatic life." she remarked.

"Sweetie, I'm not even done telling you about Roger, I have four more friends after him." Collins informed her.

"Holy shit... Okay, keep going."

"Well... um... After that he understandably shut himself off to the world. He wouldn't leave his room, he wouldn't let us in, he kept the door locked, we occasionally heard him play his guitar, but even that was rare. Then, one day I heard something coming from inside that room, I went over and knocked on the door. All I got was an angry 'Go away!' in response. About a week later, when Mark and I finally managed to pick the lock on his door, we found him huddled on the floor, shaking like crazy, turns out the sound I heard was him looking for more drugs. He'd run out and was desperate for a fix, but for some reason was even more desperate to _not_ leave the room, so he's been going through withdrawal for a week, and we didn't even know about it. Unfortunately, after that incident he lost his fear of the outdoors and continued to make regular visits to The Man." He sighed, it was almost as if The Man was a whole other character in the story, and not just the local dealer, he'd caused enough shit in their lives, that's for sure.

"Who's The Man?"

"Roger's dealer." Mimi's too, but that came later.

"Are all of your friends like Roger?" Sophia asked.

"No, just Roger, thank god."

"I hear that."

"After a while I was offered a job at MIT, and jumped on the chance to make some money, Roger was still a wreck when I left. But then, about two months later I get a call from Mark telling me that he's finally stopping. For the next month or so I continued to get updates from Mark, apparently he tried rehab for a while but dropped out to go through it alone, so when I stopped getting the calls I figured he was either clean or using again. If he was clean, great, if not there was nothing I could do, so I just didn't bother. About six months after Mark stopped giving me updates I got fired, so I called to say that I was coming home. I then found out that Roger had been clean for half a year, but hadn't left the house in weeks, and didn't leave the house until that overly eventful Christmas Eve." Collins sighed again, talking about Roger was a very draining thing to do.

"So Roger's a depressed musician?"

"Pretty much, but unless you understand why, it's hard to understand him. Don't worry, Roger has the longest background, the others don't have as much drama in their life, before this story takes place anyway."

Sophia waited for Collins to continue, but he just stared out the window. After about two minutes of just watching him stare, Sophia took action and snapped her fingers in front of his face, luckily it worked but Collins still seemed disoriented went he looked back at her.

"Sorry I keep doing that. Strong memories."

"I understand."

"Thanks. Now, I also have a good memory, and I remember you saying that every time I told you something you would tell me something. What's next in your story?" Collins asked.

"Well..."


End file.
